My gaze flickers to the examination room, where Michael has joined Dr. Jones. They're both watching us, and I figure Dr. Jones is telling Michael about the results of my tests.
I return my attention to the man standing before me.
"I… I really appreciate it, agent Rumlow, but I don't want to take up any more of your time… You're a busy man." I smile.
If there was a right answer, that wasn't it.
He looks at me in silence for a few seconds, then folds his arms across his chest.
"You're right," He smiles, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I am."
I'm not imagining it, right? There's an air resonating from him, like someone who's just been jilted.
"I wish you luck with your work, Ms. Summers." He turns and strides away.
No, it's not my imagination. There was a definite edge to his words, as subtle as it may have been.
I bite my lip as I look at my wrapped hand. Maybe I made a mistake.
'But this is for the best', I tell myself. I'm just attracted to Rumlow. Even if I trained with him, I can't deny that I have an ulterior motive. What would he think of me if he found out?
Yes, this is for the best.
I leave the training facility and enter the examination room. I need a shower. The shield-issued t-shirt is clinging to me, and I don't care much for their restrictive track pants either.
Michael's not here anymore, but Dr. Jones is, and she doesn't even attempt to hide her curiosity.
"What happened? Brock seemed a little annoyed when he passed through here." She hands me a towel.
I look at her. So I hadn't imagined it after all.
I take the towel, trying not to remember how casual he'd been when he shot me down. You're right. I am.
"He did, didn't he?" I sigh.
"What did you say?"
"He offered to train me. I gave the wrong answer." I shrug.
"What a shame. And after I worked so hard to get you guys paired up." Dr. Jones sighs, but she doesn't look that disheartened. The faint smile on her face suggests to me that she's enjoying this game.
"Listen Dr. Jones, I appreciate the thought, but you don't need to play cupid for me. I can handle myself. I just don't think I'm cut out for a relationship or a training regime right now… my research comes first." I pick my clothes up from the bin by the examination table and head for the door to the changing room.
"All right, all right. But you're only 24, honey. There's more to life than work." She calls after me.
I know. I resist the urge to make a snappy retort and ignore her as I enter the change room.
When did I become so angry about this? There are a lot of guys out there. It doesn't have to be Rumlow. I haven't lost anything.
I begin to remove the boxing tape from my hands, then pause.
If I haven't lost anything, why do I have to try so hard to persuade myself?
